Redefined
by yadon
Summary: A memorable afternoon between himself and Prosecutor Blackquill prompts Bobby Fulbright to delve into the past, to pursue justice where it may not have been rightfully attained all those years ago. Except Bobby has also discovered that all his feelings towards Prosecutor Blackquill stirring within... have very little at all to do with justice. [real!Fulbright; Ch.5 rated M for sex]
1. Chapter 1

_This is a direct sequel to the fic "Justice Never Sleeps" by_ _ **Evil Icing**_ _. Although you don't have to read it to understand everything here, I would recommend it just to get an idea of Simon's side of things, and just how far it went physically between them._

 _Cover photo is by my wonderful Blackbright buddy, tumblr user Morpheusdreamt._

* * *

Even if they hadn't kissed, Bobby decided, he still would have pursued this case as unrelentingly as he had been for close to a month.

That was the conclusion he reached as he pulled into the parking lot of the prison, summoned away from what would have been another day of attempting to interview Ms. Blackquill.

(Maybe this time she wouldn't have told him to take his justice and do something very lewd and quite frankly, impossible, with it!)

The moment Bobby entered the prison, the warden stormed up to him and launched into a disgusted tirade about how Prosecutor Blackquill had acted out for the third time this week. Bobby caught a few key phrases –

 _ _More serious. Medical treatment. For absolutely no reason.__

– but the rest was a colorfully obscene blur that he mostly tuned out.

Because there __was__ a reason, not just Prosecutor Blackquill's blackened soul thirsting for whatever chaos it could find or create, as the warden relayed the words Prosecutor Blackquill had provided for his motivation.

But Bobby couldn't just tell the warden that he knew it was all a scripted fabrication, how someone so destitute of morality __could not__ have kissed Bobby the way Prosecutor Blackquill had kissed him that fateful day over three weeks ago.

While detouring by his apartment, Bobby and Prosecutor Blackquill had ended up investigating more than the whereabouts of Bobby's misplaced badge.

Prosecutor Blackquill's breath mixing with his own through kisses desperate and curious; the briefest contact against his thigh where Bobby knew Prosecutor Blackquill would __not__ stop this until it went as far as it possibly could go, and therefore he'd better be the one to end it (and then, sadly, did)...

Bobby hadn't been quite the same since, and neither, apparently, had Prosecutor Blackquill.

For all Bobby strove to be a positive influence on however much remained of Prosecutor Blackquill's life, he hadn't expected the most encouraging development of all to have the complete opposite effect, shooting all the progress they'd made down in flames.

As he approached the medical wing, Bobby still clung to the hope Prosecutor Blackquill always sneered at him for holding so firmly to. This time, the hope told him to keep on believing not just in that kiss, but in what he'd learned in his time researching UR-1, about who Simon Blackquill __really__ was.

Because perhaps Simon Blackquill was remembering it as well – who he was six years ago, and still was now, in this very moment.

But if only Bobby could stop Prosecutor Blackquill from allowing himself to be punished for it!

No, no. That wasn't right. There was no "if", not when it came to justice! Bobby __would__ ensure Prosecutor Blackquill understood by the end of their time together today, that justice was in his corner and that meant – __could only mean__ – revealing to Prosecutor Blackquill how he'd utilized the bulk of his hours away from the prison over the past three weeks.

He inhaled a deep, steadying breath, inching open the medical wing door and taking his first steps towards the kind of justice that mattered most to him.

Justice no one else cared enough to fight for.

* * *

Prosecutor Blackquill lay in his cot, staring blankly at the ceiling as if in a trance. He paid no mind to Bobby, who sank into a chair in the corner of the room, a few steps from the cot.

A white butterfly bandage covered the edge of Prosecutor Blackquill's brow, stitches peeking out beneath it. But other than the dark circles rimming his eyes, he appeared... alright? Or at least, the damage wasn't nearly as severe as Bobby had feared based on all the heated profanity the warden had used.

Prosecutor Blackquill's interlaced hands rested upon his torso, knuckles scratched up a fresh angry scarlet. He obviously hadn't much experience with hand-to-hand combat, not the warrior he so proudly bragged he was.

He was someone else; perhaps, the studious and introverted young lawyer whom Director Cosmos described as always wearing a faint smile, especially when talking with Dr. Cykes. Or maybe the young man Mr. Terran had only met once or twice, but easily recollected how well he seemed to get along with Dr. Cykes's daughter, who shied away from everyone else.

Whoever he was, Bobby wanted to grab him by the arms, hold him steady and close and keep any more of him from falling apart.

Finally, Prosecutor Blackquill spoke, tired and disinterested as if waking from a deep sleep. "Did they provide you with reason behind why I, as they've worded it, 'lashed out'?"

"I'd like to hear it from you, Sir."

"Hmph. It was nothing more than an old-fashioned scuffle between criminals. What else would you expect from degenerates such as ourselves?"

Bobby __had__ caught that much during the warden's spittle-filled rant. How, (allegedly, of course) another inmate had questioned Prosecutor Blackquill about when his sister would be visiting him again, because she was __so__ pretty, and would look even prettier when -

Well, that was never iterated, because Prosecutor Blackquill had already lunged at him and sent the both of them crashing to the floor.

And while Bobby could fully comprehend a man wanting to protect his sister's name – even a sister that he was on highly unstable terms with – he couldn't believe in this version of Prosecutor Blackquill, so readily engaging in an endless string of skirmishes. If attacked, certainly he would defend himself, but Prosecutor Blackquill was __never__ the one who struck the first blow. His most dangerous weapons were his mind and words, not his fists or any instruments he could wield; rare for a convicted murderer, except...

...Bobby was having trouble believing __that__ now, too.

"Sir, the problem is that it's become... frequent. It's not like you. You've been much more volatile in recent weeks, and... it's just raised concern, is all."

"Not enough concern to warrant you saying anything until today."

So he'd taken note – not that Bobby expected anything less from Prosecutor Blackquill. Bobby had so thoroughly dedicated himself to UR-1 that he'd kept a safe distance from Prosecutor Blackquill, outside of transporting him to various appointments and meetings, lest he be tempted to blurt out all the information he'd gathered.

But that didn't place the __blame__ on him; ultimately, it was Prosecutor Blackquill who was intent on behaving so childishly.

"Alright, so I'm asking you, __today__ , if you could tell me why this has been happening lately. If there's some cause for... all this. I know what you told the warden but..." He thought better of moving closer, of doing anything to disturb the calmness that had settled upon the room. "But you can tell me if... if there's something bothering you. You know that."

Silence. Bobby knew how this worked; he couldn't argue with a statement never given. Prosecutor Blackquill didn't want to talk about it, so he wouldn't, and he'd __keep__ not talking about it until the other person decided not to, either.

It was manipulative, and in Bobby's opinion, nothing short of disrespectful.

Bobby dropped the empathetic, friendly approach, addressing Prosecutor Blackquill like he would a misbehaving schoolkid. "Okay, well, then you can tell the therapist, because starting next Tuesday you'll be going to __two__ counselling sessions a week."

Prosecutor Blackquill opened his eyes and scoffed, amused. "Tch. No. I will not."

" _ _Yes,__ you will."

"I said, __no__ , Fool Bright, and -"

"And not 'no', Prosecutor Blackquill! That's not for you to decide at this point. You already __made__ your decision by getting into these fights. Like I said, your next appointment is this coming Tuesday, at four."

"I'll be sure to hang myself around three, then."

Bobby was obligated to report these threats, even though he knew this was just Prosecutor Blackquill's dark sense of humor. Then, of course, Prosecutor Blackquill would (as he __always__ did) twist and mold Bobby's adherence to policy as a betrayal of trust.

And Prosecutor Blackquill knew there were very few things that irritated Bobby like being accused of something so awful and unjust as betrayal. So this __one__ time, Bobby decided he'd overlook it. After all that he meant to tell Prosecutor Blackquill later on, he'd be accused of betrayal to a much higher and unforgivable extent.

"Sir, just... forget about your appointments, let's focus on right now. How about we go for a walk? I haven't taken you anywhere this week, so... maybe, Lakefront Park would be a good place to go."

"For what purpose?" Before Bobby could answer, Prosecutor Blackquill all but spat at him, "I do not want your __pity__ , Fool Bright, if this is your attempt to make me 'feel better', or what-have-you. Leave, be gone from my sight – much as you have been over the past fortnight."

This was the second time Prosecutor Blackquill had acknowledged Bobby's recent absence, and it closed a fist around Bobby's heart to think of Prosecutor Blackquill having __expected__ him all those days, and being disappointed when he didn't arrive.

As much as he always demanded otherwise, Bobby had come to understand that Prosecutor Blackquill didn't really want to be left alone - he only believed the false truth that he __deserved__ to be.

"This isn't anything to do with... all that's happened. This is just me thinking you need to get out, and not lie around here or in your cell for the rest of the evening. The weather's fantastic today, and I remember you said Taka likes to fly around at the park a lot, so maybe we'll see him."

"Taka does not want to see me in this condition."

 _ _Neither do I__ , thought Bobby, though what he said was, "He won't care, you know that. I'm going to go with or without you, and I'd... much rather it be __with__ you."

Prosecutor Blackquill's eyes narrowed with suspicion, clearly debating if he should take Bobby's words for a meaning deeper than face value.

"Please, Prosecutor Blackquill. This isn't meant to be part of your rehabilitation, or even an order; this is me honestly requesting you come along, because I'd like it very much if you did."

Prosecutor Blackquill didn't accept Bobby's invitation.

But he didn't reject it either. Merely, he didn't protest as Bobby helped him out of the cot to his feet, and lifted the iron manacles he was always escorted out in.

Prosecutor Blackquill's hands, normally clenched so tightly into fists while in shackles, relaxed as Bobby chained him gently but securely. His fingers flexed out, stretched, ended up brushing against Bobby's own hands as he finished locking the cuffs.

That one shadow of a touch caused Prosecutor Blackquill to tense. The same depthless gaze that haunted Bobby every night as he slipped into sleep was now inches away, drilling into him and, in a quite criminal fashion, stealing away his breath and focus.

Prosecutor Blackquill had to clear his throat, to urge Bobby to lead him out of the medical wing. And Bobby did so – without any sort of apology.

He wasn't sorry. He hadn't been three weeks ago, and he wasn't now.

And today he was going to tell Prosecutor Blackquill he never would be.


	2. Chapter 2

Exactly as its name suggested, Lakefront Park consisted of pavillions and picnic tables, bike trails and jogging lanes, all surrounding a huge lake bustling with visitors enjoying the mid-Autumn afternoon.

It was warm enough that Bobby left his jacket in the cruiser, and as they circled from where they parked, he kept their route as unshaded by trees as possible, so Prosecutor Blackquill could enjoy the sunshine everyone else at the park was taking for granted.

Since he knew this place like the back of his hand, Bobby also made sure to lead Prosecutor Blackquill along the paths that would have the least amount of foot traffic this time of day. Not only would it result in less stares from passersby, but it allowed the privacy Bobby needed to confess to everything consuming him.

So it sure would be great if he could find the resolve to present those feelings as ably and passionately as he often did his badge.

He knew what was stopping him. It wasn't what many might consider the obvious obstacle – that Prosecutor Blackquill was another man. No, it was that he could just __imagine,__ if someone had told his nineteen-year-old rookie self that he would one day develop unquestionably strong romantic feelings for an accused murderer, Bobby would have asked to be cuffed on the spot, thrown into prison for life for so wholly betraying what had been his perception of justice.

Prosecutor Blackquill was an __inmate__ , and Bobby was responsible for him. There were so many stories about the liberties previous officers had taken with other convicts. Abusive, non-consensual liberties, and it wasn't like Bobby was naive enough to think it __couldn't__ happen, but he wondered if any of them felt justified in what they'd done. That they had unspoken permission to do whatever they'd like, whenever they wanted, to these inmates who he highly doubted they had seen as anything but a possession, an accessory to __use__.

Having these urges – wanting to touch and hold and kiss Prosecutor Blackquill, was one thing, but acting on them was another. If anything, it was he who didn't deserve someone as noble and intelligent as Prosecutor Blackquill. Someone who, if Bobby was correct in his hunch, was a __true__ champion of justice, for the sacrifice he'd made.

"Hoy! Fool Bright!" Prosecutor Blackquill's elbow bent to jab Bobby in the side, stopping him in his tracks. Bobby's gaze followed Prosecutor Blackquill's, where high in the sky above soared a sharply crescent-shaped figure.

"Oh! Sir, is that...?"

Prosecutor Blackquill brought his thumb and forefinger to his mouth, a shrill whistle piercing through the air and beckoning down Prosecutor Blackquill's finest, most feathered friend.

Taka alighted upon Prosecutor Blackquill's bent arm with a majestic grace, and the only thing he held more notable than his dignity...

Was the mangled corpse of a mole hanging in his beak.

Had this been their first meeting, Bobby would have been thoroughly disgusted. But he knew Prosecutor Blackquill better now, and because of that knew Taka much better too.

Since he'd first been assigned to Prosecutor Blackquill, he'd made it a point to tend to Taka's nest at the courthouse, to feed and visit the hawk even when Prosecutor Blackquill didn't order him to. Bobby had always believed you could learn a lot about a person by their relationship with their pets, and in Prosecutor Blackquill's case, it was maybe one of the __only__ ways, at least until recently.

"What have you there, comrade?" Prosecutor Blackquill rubbed the hawk's head, to which Taka responded with a low churring noise.

To Bobby's great surprise, Taka stretched away from Prosecutor Blackquill's affection and opened his beak, letting the mole fall squarely between Bobby's feet.

"Taka!" Prosecutor Blackquill sounded absolutely beside himself. "What the devil do you think you're doing? Have you gone __mad__?"

Bobby stooped down and carefully retrieved the mole. "Here you go." He waved it in front of Taka, whose feathers bristled as he screed in an affronted sort of way.

"Fool, do you not understand? He means for you to __keep__ it. He..." Prosecutor Blackquill was how Bobby had rarely seen him, at a loss for words. "It is symbolic. He is extending this to you as a gift, to display his trust for you. Why, I can not possibly begin to fathom."

"O-Oh!" Mole clutched firmly in the grip of his smaller fingers and thumb, Bobby responded with a two-finger salute. "Thank you, Taka! You are indeed a friend of justice!"

The mole grazed the side of Bobby's head as he saluted, and he managed to scream only internally as he quickly dropped his hand away and tossed the mole to the ground behind him, out of Taka's sight.

Suddenly, Taka struck at Prosecutor Blackquill, clamping down a beakful of hair and tugging harshly. " _ _Ow__ , Taka! Cease this at – __ow!__ Bloody __hell__ , Taka! What has gotten into you!?"

Bobby didn't think it was possible for raptors to wear such a look of confusion, but that was exactly what Taka seemed to be emanating as he pecked and prodded at the fringe covering Prosecutor Blackquill's bandaged brow.

"Taka, off with you!" Prosecutor Blackquill commanded, though he made no attempt to steer Taka away. It was only after several more seconds of inspection that Taka screeched out what could have been a cry of frustration, before taking flight and leaving a smattering of feathers in his wake.

Prosecutor Blackquill crouched and selected one of the fallen feathers, studying it momentarily. He placed it between his lips before speaking. "Was it not as I said, Fool Bright?"

Bobby supposed Prosecutor Blackquill meant how he hadn't wanted Taka to witness him with the scratches he'd incurred from the brawl that morning. And he also supposed by the dangerous edge to Prosecutor Blackquill's tone, he expected a one-word answer.

But Bobby was growing tired of letting himself be manipulated into Prosecutor Blackquill's expectations. "Well, Sir, if you –"

"Silence! You dare even unsheath your blade by attempting a rebuttal?"

"No, Sir, I wasn't gonna argue at all; your injuries are no one's fault but yours. So if you're trying to make me feel stupid for bringing you here, it won't work. I was just trying to tell you -" He gestured to the feather Prosecutor Blackquill continued chewing on thoughtfully. "That's not exactly sanitary. If you wouldn't mind spitting it out, I – "

Prosecutor Blackquill turned abruptly and spat the feather directly at Bobby. It brushed his nose with the barest tickle and fluttered to the ground.

Bobby sighed, staring at the feather then back up at Prosecutor Blackquill. "For what it's worth... I think Taka was just concerned about you."

"Oh, so now that the two of you are thick as thieves, you are an expert on his behavior?"

"Sir..." Bobby replied lamely as Prosecutor Blackquill walked past him, several yards ahead.

Any of the other officers would have never allowed Prosecutor Blackquill to wander so far away from them, but Bobby knew he only wanted the space made available by the outdoors. If he ventured too much further, he'd be introducing himself to the throng of people milling around the lakeside café and the adjacent paddleboat dock.

He just needed a moment to himself, and that was exactly what Bobby gave him as he took a moment of his own.

This wasn't going how Bobby had planned; not even close. But that was his fault, wasn't it? What did he expect, for this to be the kind of outing he __wanted__ it to be? That is, him and Prosecutor Blackquill enjoying a fine day, in each other's company, idly chatting about their interests and their lives?

A date?

He wasn't here for this, for his own selfish desires – he was here for Prosecutor Blackquill, and that involved telling him the truth. Still, Bobby couldn't stop imagining what it'd be like if Prosecutor Blackquill were __free,__ and they could be here __together__ , then he could...

Bobby closed the distance between them and reached out, carefully placing a hand on Prosecutor Blackquill's back. Not trying to steer him anywhere or a warning to settle down, but just to... have it there.

"Sir, are you feeling up to staying here a little longer?"

"You and your bothersome questions, Fool Bright..." Prosecutor Blackquill hung his head. "What does it matter what __I__ prefer?"

Bobby couldn't help but think Prosecutor Blackquill was answering far more than just the question he'd posed. And as Bobby always did when faced with anything that might go beyond a superficial meaning...

He ignored it, played dumb. Acted every bit the __fool__ Prosecutor Blackquill loved to remind him he was.

"Oh, great, because I'd love to stay! I'll take you to my favorite spot in the park!"

"Bah, don't tell me you mean that pitiful excuse of a snack hut." Prosecutor Blackquill nodded to the café ahead of them. It was a place Bobby knew well, where he'd always taken his breaks that one summer, and still dropped by every now and then during his own visits.

"No, Sir, it's... you've never been there with me. You'll see! It's a secret, sort of."

"A __secret__ , you say? Hmph." Prosecutor Blackquill's tone, for the first time that day, held an honest interest. "Since when are you the type to carry secrets, Fool Bright?"

Bobby pressed his hand a bit harder against Prosecutor Blackquill's back, became the officer again as he guided them along and veered off when the path split, away from the café and towards the lot where the cruiser was parked.

"Don't be so surprised, Sir; everyone's that type, one way or another. Wouldn't you agree?"

Prosecutor Blackquill's sidelong glare and stony silence told Bobby that he very much did.


	3. Chapter 3

" _ _This__ is your favorite spot in the entire park?" Prosecutor Blackquill's uninjured brow arched with skepticism.

Before them lay a small playground, a swingset and monkey bars coated in chipped paint. A volleyball pit sat beside it in even sadder condition, two rusty poles hoisting a droopy net pocked with holes.

Bobby leaned against the swingset's metal frame. "But it's __nice__ here, Sir. Peaceful. I mean, the whole park is, but here especially so! And it's good exercise, too. I even calculated it, years ago: from here to the snack hut down by lake is a mile and a half, roundtrip. Think about how that adds up, over time!"

"I congratulate you, Fool Bright, on your mastery of grade five maths." Prosecutor Blackquill lowered himself onto the swing beside Bobby, and peered up at him. The swingset was a smaller scale, designed for kids, and his knees bent at an awkward angle. He dug his boots into the woodchip-littered ground, rocking back and forth, heel to toe, as if unsure how the swingset operated. "I must confess, I expected an area more... lively, than this."

They were the only ones at the playground, which was far enough off the beaten trail that Bobby had driven them around to it. The lake was hardly visible through the border of trees to the north and east, whereas the western edge was nothing but a small plot of picnic tables. Bobby had half a mind to inspect them, to see if the inscriptions written on them by former visitors were still intact.

"It __is__ lively, in the summer! When the kids aren't at school, there's tons of them running around here." Bobby paused momentarily, having realized he'd misspoke. "Or, there used to be. You know, they built a bigger, more modern playground closer to the lake, and so this one kind of gets forgotten about, but it's still my favorite. For old time's sake. I've been thinking, some day the police department should hold a fundraiser to help renovate and restore all the parts of the park that are in disrepair, since we've been patrolling here for years. It'd be great, giving back to the community!"

"Ha! You mean, brighten up all - " Prosecutor Blackquill lifted his hand from the swing, waving to the whole of the playground. "- _ _this__?! The premier location for a predator to lie in wait for unsuspecting women or youths? Or, say, the perfect area for a body to be disposed of, should one decide to end the life of another..." He smiled at Bobby in a way that was his version of playful, and the rest of society's version of unsettling.

"Wh-! No, Sir, don't you say that!" Bobby knew Prosecutor Blackquill wasn't __wrong__ , but this was all just an extension of his behavior back at the prison. The deliberate antagonizing, the hopeless outlook on the world and all those in it being used as an excuse. "This place has only fond memories for me! Don't you go trying to taint it with all your talk of __killing__ and-"

"The world and humanity itself is, by default, tainted. Is that not the reason that your occupation exists? That __justice__ exists?"

"Of course, Sir," Bobby replied calmly, countering Prosecutor Blackquill's confrontational tone. "But justice couldn't exist if it weren't a real concept that people actively fought for. In this world you say is so 'tainted'."

"Hmph." Prosecutor Blackquill turned his gaze downward. "A philosophy only simpletons could adopt."

"You know what they say: what's simple is true!"

"Nobody says that, Fool Bright. How on earth is it that you favor __this__ spot so much?" Prosecutor Blackquill cut in, then answered immediately thereafter. "Oh, wait; this park is an old haunt of yours, is it not?"

"Yes, that's right, Sir!" He shouldn't be too thrilled that Prosecutor Blackquill remembered such a seemingly trivial fact, and even brought it up himself. Just, __before__ all this, Prosecutor Blackquill __never__ addressed anything regarding Bobby's personal life, even with Bobby sharing so little to begin with.

"Hm. I suppose even __you__ had to start somewhere. Although I can't imagine you were terribly different than you are now." There was the briefest lift of his lips, a twitch of a smile, before he glanced up to Bobby watching him expectantly. "Not that I concern myself with such things! I just meant... I'm sure even back then you were running around yelling about justice. The natural conclusion one would reach if they have known you for even one unfortunate minute."

 _ _He's protesting a bit much__ , Bobby mused, but just as quickly pushed the thought away. This would be the perfect opportunity to ease into the topic of UR-1. "Would you like me to tell you about my tenure here?"

Prosecutor Blackquill's face, always so deathly pallid, appeared somewhat more colored as he nodded his consent. Maybe the sun he was finally getting or maybe...? "Yes, I suppose you may. But you must keep the mentions of justice to a minimum. I will force you to cease and desist if you utter the word more than five times."

So Bobby told Prosecutor Blackquill all about his first assignment as an officer that wasn't hours behind a desk. Patrolling Lakefront Park every afternoon that summer had been nothing short of a blessing, with a day camp visiting this very playground. Approximately twenty children, whom Bobby could remember nearly all the names of (but didn't rattle off, for Prosecutor Blackquill's sake) had grown to appreciate and adore him, as he kept this portion of the park safe for them. His summer had consisted of tasks ranging from giving a ride home to a little girl whose sister who'd forgotten to pick her up, to carrying away a wild snake that had found a temporary home under the slide, terrifying all the kids.

"How touching," Prosecutor Blackquill commented in his snide way. "Really, Fool Bright, who would have thought you'd end up where you are now?"

He wasn't sure what Prosecutor Blackquill meant by that, cryptic as it was. Did he mean that Bobby hadn't come far at all, back at the same park some thirteen years later? Or did he mean that Bobby had, in fact, made __quite__ the leap, the same man who those children had seen as the paradigm of morality now having engaged in a heated, almost-sexual tryst with a death row inmate.

Or was he, as Prosecutor Blackquill so often did, not really saying anything at all and masking this with elegant articulation?

Two could play at that game.

"I bet __you__ would, Prosecutor Blackquill!"

Prosecutor Blackquill squinted up at him. "Kindly do not presume what I would think. Although... I will admit that while I am not one for sentimentality, in this instance it shows that you, Fool Bright, do not forget where you, in a sense, came from. Which is admirable, and something I myself considered of utmost importance. Once."

Prosecutor Blackquill swallowed, grimacing as though he'd been forcefed a food he despised. It was exceptionally difficult, Bobby knew, for him to do something so human as hold a conversation about such personal ideals. The last thing Prosecutor Blackquill needed or wanted would be for Bobby to acknowledge it. Any idiot, he'd say, even Bobby Fulbright, could plainly see how uncomfortable it made him.

"Well, I don't know if it's __all__ sentimentality, Sir. If anything, I just like to come here to think and -"

"Ah, but I thought you said you come here often?" Prosecutor Blackquill smirked.

"Very funny." Bobby smiled softly back at him, hardly offended. Because this was it, this was the opening he'd been searching for! "I could __tell__ you what I've been thinking about recently, if that's alright. I'd really like to, Sir. It's important for you to know, actually."

Prosecutor Blackquill's expression and tone grew cross, petulant. "No, I've heard quite enough from you today. May we leave? I'm certain by this point the staff – and you, surely? – may fear a repeat of previous outings."

After that afternoon he and Prosecutor Blackquill had become so intimately involved, Bobby had been disciplined for the first time in his career. Which was understandable, as Bobby wouldn't expect to get away with returning three hours late from an appointment he never even brought Prosecutor Blackquill to in the first place.

But not a second had passed where he felt it hadn't been every bit worth it, not for all he'd discovered about UR-1, and it was moments like this – where he saw how badly Prosecutor Blackquill needed to be free again – that solidified it.

Carefully, he stood his ground. "As long as we're back before shift change, we can stay as long as you'd like! That's what the warden said – in fact, I think today he might approve of you being out as long as possible Now, Sir, I really would like to discuss -"

"No. Fool Bright, I can't... __discuss__ any more today. But..." Prosecutor Blackquill rose from the swing, mouth parting for a moment, as if the words were stuck inside needing to be pried loose. "But... that said, this was very... not the waste of time I expected it to be."

Bobby was too stunned by Prosecutor Blackquill's thanks to push the conversation towards UR-1 again. "...Oh! That's good, Sir. You're welcome."

"I'm not sure at which point I offered my gratitude but no matter. Let us return; it is my duty to keep the prison staff alert and not allow their senses to dull. Who knows: perhaps I will do so again before lights out tonight. I suppose it all hinges on if any other inmates are foolhardy enough to challenge me."

"Sir, please... don't. Don't say that! You can not keep doing this! I can't stand to think of a repeat of today, of being called away to hear that you've-"

"Why must you take it all so personally? My crimes – those I have committed and those I have yet to – they are not a reflection on you, on your ability as an officer. They are entirely my own doing, a product of being unable to quell the evil that rages on within me." Prosecutor Blackquill started off down the path that led to the parking lot, pausing for a moment and turning back to address Bobby. "I am going with or without you. If you do not want to face the repercussions of your charge escaping and embarking on a murderous rampage, I suggest you quit your mindless jabbering and come along, Fool Bright."

Prosecutor Blackquill's wording might have indicated he was giving Bobby options, but they both knew he wasn't.

So that finally settled it. Bobby wasn't going to give him a choice either.


	4. Chapter 4

Just as he'd been instructed to, Bobby remained in complete silence as he and Prosecutor Blackquill made their way back to the cruiser.

Prosecutor Blackquill eyed him curiously, and Bobby just gave him a soft smile in return. Let Prosecutor Blackquill be lulled into the idea that Bobby only knew how to play "Good Cop", could do nothing but willfully obey every order directed his way.

Too bad for Prosecutor Blackquill that all the time they'd spent with each other had taught Bobby a thing or two about Prosecutor Blackquill's own approach – the arts of deception and manipulation. If it was for justice, Bobby had no issue with employing it himself.

And nothing had ever been more for justice than what he was about to do.

He folded the driver's seat down so Prosecutor Blackquill could climb into the backseat, then proceeded to follow without any sort of forewarning. Prosecutor Blackquill let out a startled "Gah!" as he had no choice but to slide over.

"Fool Bright, what is the meaning of this?!" Prosecutor Blackquill was angled away from Bobby, slouched behind the passenger's side. Even so, there wasn't much room between them, nor space at __all__ ; the backseat of Bobby's cruiser wasn't constructed to be comfortable or welcoming.

"Sorry Sir, I didn't mean to alarm you!" A harmless lie, hardly comparable to all the truths Prosecutor Blackquill insisted on hiding from Bobby. "But since you wouldn't hear me out back at the playground, we're gonna talk, right here, right now. Because we __need__ to talk, in private. About a lot of things. Like today, for one. And about why I haven't been coming around quite as much; I know you've been wondering and -"

"I did not __wonder__." Prosecutor Blackquill's words struck like a sharpened blade. "I __noticed__ , but I did not __wonder__. It is no business of mine how the department adjusts your schedule to fulfill whatever needs arise. I am able to pass my time on death row sufficiently enough ruminating on a great many subjects. Your whereabouts are not among them."

Even though Bobby was certain Prosecutor Blackquill was only overcompensating, trying desperately to resolder the shield that had been cracked on that afternoon, it still stung. But nothing could hurt him enough to make him give up, not now.

"All the same, I'm going to tell you why. See, there's a case I've been working on, and... I was hoping, Sir, that you could give me your professional opinion on it. A completely different perspective than my own!"

"And you must clamor into the backseat of your cruiser, beside me, to accomplish all this? We could converse during the drive. Would it not be more... proper, that way?"

"No, I don't think we can. I have lot to say, that I don't think can be covered during the drive back. And hey, don't worry about 'proper'. Right now I'm not thinking of it like you're a prisoner, so you shouldn't either. Why do you think I've always called you 'Prosecutor Blackquill'?" He punctuated his question with a hopeful smile. Bobby wasn't trying to play up to Prosecutor Blackquill; he genuinely __did__ feel a tug of joy at the thought of them really __working__ together, like a detective and prosecutor should.

Prosecutor Blackquill did not seem to share this sentiment. "Because you possess sawdust for brains. But fine, get on with it."

Bobby knew all about how careful a person _–_ especially a detective! _–_ had to be with their words. It'd been a huge weakness for him at the beginning of his tenure, with how his enthusiasm tended to tangle his testimony up too much to help the prosecution.

"So this case... it's all a matter of justice." Bobby could almost literally see the sardonic reply taking form in Prosecutor Blackquill's mind, and immediately tackled it. "And I know what you're gonna say, that that's how I see every case! But I really mean it this time. See, the accused in this case confessed to murder, and there's a lot of evidence pointing to their guilt, but-"

"'But'? This all sounds very open-and-shut based on what you're telling me. Evidence and a confession? What else could you possibly be searching for?"

"Please, Sir, let me finish." After no argument from Prosecutor Blackquill, Bobby continued. "But __everyone__ involved in the case – the witnesses, I mean, none of them can back up the defendant's claim. That they'd have motive to kill the victim, or even the predisposition to! From everything they testify too, the defendant was an upstanding, __good__ person who would never hurt a soul."

"Good? Just as a 'bad' person could very well do something that is seen as 'kind' or 'selfless', once in their life, a person who is as 'good' and 'noble' as you claim this suspect is would not be exempt from committing such an atrocity." There was a biting edge to Prosecutor Blackquill's tone that strayed far beyond his professional opinion; this was __personal__. "You are being far too subjective, Fool Bright, which I would not advise if you truly wish to see justice served. The law is in place to differentiate between __acts__ of right and wrong, not to __care__ about if those who committed said acts are 'good' or 'evil'. And those who enforce it should uphold that stance thusly."

Bobby kept silent. He didn't know what answer he'd been expecting from Prosecutor Blackquill, and that was the problem of all of it. Prosecutor Blackquill was better than anyone Bobby had ever met at responding without really __giving__ a true response; he only replied for the purpose of gaining control of the conversation, to manipulate it how he saw fit, much like the testimony he'd given when confessing to the murder of Dr. Cykes.

Bobby wouldn't let him win this time around.

"But what if..." This was likely his last chance to maintain an advantage. He had to challenge Prosecutor Blackquill; not only discount what he'd said but make Prosecutor Blackquill himself question it. "...I don't know about you, Sir, but I don't always think 'right' and 'wrong' means 'all right' or 'all wrong'. You're telling me not to be so... so subjective, but when it comes down to it, no case ever involves all of one or the other."

If Prosecutor Blackquill suspected anything, he didn't show it. His gaze remained impassable and his voice even. "For example...?"

"Well. Like this case. The suspect – and this is just what my investigating has uncovered – is not guilty beyond the shadow of a doubt, and confessed only to... cover up something more complicated, something darker! It's my belief the suspect is doing what they believe is the right thing, but for all the wrong reasons. So how can the law be expected to uphold something so... so __gray__? Justice is all about those who are lost between the 'right' and 'wrong' the law dictates, and making sure they are helped – or punished! - fairly and accordingly."

"And who says this suspect won't be?" There was a menacing flicker across Prosecutor Blackquill's face, the most minute tic of his lips before his jaw set hard. If he didn't __know__ by now, he was on the verge of discovery. "Fool Bright, you are too __invested__ in this case – you must detach yourself, as hard as that is for you, and -"

"No! I can't let an innocent man hang for a crime he didn't commit!" Bobby kept his eyes locked on Prosecutor Blackquill's, as his words softened, and he admitted everything with the smallest statement. "I can't do that, Sir."

"But sometimes, Fool Bright... __Sometimes__ , we must do things that we 'can not'. __Do I make myself clear__?"

It was so upsetting, that he'd expertly maneuvered his way through their exchange only to – as Prosecutor Blackquill so often chided him for – allow his emotions to get the best of him and come bursting out.

The only thing clear to him right now was that he had __so__ many emotions. All of them involving Prosecutor Simon Blackquill.

"Not at all, Sir. No. You do not."

Prosecutor Blackquill's hand moved, and Bobby raised his own arm, to protect himself from being the next victim of Prosecutor Blackquill's tantrums. But instead of using his fist to attack, Prosecutor Blackquill pressed the heel of his hand to his bandaged brow as if an acute headache throbbed behind it. When he spoke, it was with exasperation and a great deal of disappointment.

"You've been speaking with my sister, I take it?"

A nod. "I have. Or I've been trying to, she's not exactly friendly or-"

"And you've devoted your every waking moment to researching as much about me and UR-one as possible, am I correct? This explains at least part of the reason for your recent absences." Prosecutor Blackquill could only be alluding to the intimate moment they shared, that it had maybe frightened Bobby, confused him enough to place a safe distance between the two of them while he sorted out his motivations.

"Yes, Sir, it's the __whole__ reason I haven't been around, not anything else, if you think -"

"So then, why ask for my counsel on any of this?" Prosecutor Blackquill was bent on slicing away any attempt to make this monologue a two-way conversation. His head lifted, his voice rose, and his eyes burned with consternation. "Plainly you've all this figured out on your own, Fool Bright, and as such, I will advise you to never again consult me on any case of yours. In fact, it would be best if you ceased your assignment to me entirely. Obviously this arrangement is not as successful as you or I predicted it would be upon the onset. Consider the drive back to the prison as the last task you will perform under our partnership. I dismiss you."

"You can't do that! You're -"

"Silence! You've no __right__ to question me! Just as you've no right to do what you did, going behind my back and wasting precious time on a case that has long since been closed and -" Prosecutor Blackquill clammed up mid-sentence, a certain realization washing over him. By the way his expression darkened even more, it was not the good kind. "I... I would not expect this from __you__ , Fool Bright, that you would unveil yourself to be such a self-important kowtower. Some flatfoot looking to make an impression in his first year, or perhaps some nitwit even more bumbling than yourself, hoping to avoid termination. But __you__? 'Disgust' is the only term I can think of, but it does not indicate even a percentage of what I feel towards you."

"Wh...?! You think this is about me wanting... some kind of promotion? Or recognition?" Bobby could barely get the words out, having felt as though Prosecutor Blackquill had ran him straight through with his katana, for how terribly the pain erupted inside him. "How could you __ever__ think that, Prosecutor Blackquill?! This is about justice!"

"It could not be, or you would not have frittered away valuable time and resources involved in what is little more than a wild goose chase. "

"Sir, __stop it__! Why won't you listen to me? Or... Or why can't you admit that UR-one is __not__ completely closed? That there's __more__ than what we already know?"

"Do you not hear how incredibly asinine you sound? Is me dismissing you not enough? Do you wish for your paycheck to suffer? Or, if you'd like, I could even see to it that you lose your badge, if __that__ is what it takes for you to realize what a complete and utter git you're being about all this"

"I don't care, Sir! You can dismiss me or cut my salary or even have me fired, but that won't stop how..." It was totally unprofessional for Bobby to raise his voice, which was loud to begin with, but his feelings towards Simon were anything but professional. "That won't stop me! I'm never giving up on this case, and I'm never __ever__ giving up on you!"

And it'd been something Bobby had felt this whole time, even before the kiss. He'd never had the __words__ to put to it, as he'd never been spurred to – it was something that he thought had always been unspoken, his dedication to Prosecutor Blackquill. Something he'd never have been able to say it any way except how he just did – passionate, purposeful, a thousand percent confident – for that was how much he meant it.

"Oh, for the... If I'd have known you would act so rash, would blatantly overstep the boundaries that __you,__ as my detective, should never have come close to even touching – I would have never allowed this partnership to occur! I would have turned you away after our first meeting. But no, I had been foolish enough to give you a __chance__ , when you are just one of many who can not offer the assistance I truly require, as is all apparent now."

"I think you're one to talk about 'overstepping boundaries', Sir."

If Prosecutor Blackquill wasn't going to address it, he was. There were so many traits Bobby found admirable about Prosecutor Blackquill – his intelligence, and his fearlessness, not to mention his strikingly dark eyes when he wasn't glaring daggers into someone unwise enough to cross him. But his avoidance of anything __remotely__ close to feelings was not one of them, even with Bobby knowing it was born out of keeping his sanity intact, a survival instinct.

Why did Prosecutor Blackquill __always__ have to assume that everyone was ready to confront him? Why couldn't he accept that others were willing to fight alongside him, or what's more, __for__ him?

"Do not..." Prosecutor Blackquill huffed, and started again. "That was an error of judgment on both our parts, and I won't hear otherwise. It has nothing to do with UR-one, and you are completely misguided if you allow one frivolous lark of an afternoon to color your perception of a merciless, __heartless__ -"

"Stop it! You __will__ hear otherwise, and it has everything to do with UR-one! I just can not and __will not__ believe that you... __you,__ Prosecutor Blackquill, you're __so...__ " No, no. He couldn't babble on about his emotions! He had to be more impersonal; Prosecutor Blackquill needed facts. "I've worked with __criminals__ for years now. I know their behavior, their habits – heck, the whole reason I was assigned to you was because the department trusts my judgment more than just about anyone else's, when it comes to assessing convicts and interacting with them. From all my work with murderers, with all kinds of criminals... I __know__ you aren't one."

"I can concede, based on the many personalities I have encountered during my years in the clink; certain individuals have a more ominous presence about them. But I don't believe in this notion of being able to simply 'sense' whether or not another human being is capable of committing a crime!"

"Don't you understand what I'm trying to tell you? I know you must, Prosecutor Blackquill. That I have this..." Bobby didn't want to use the word, but it was the truest definition. "This __feeling__ telling me not to give up, and -"

"I am __ordering__ you to give up. And you will obey me, Fool Bright!"

Bobby barreled right over him, poised with the same determination as if Prosecutor Blackquill had quite literally drawn his blade in preparation to slice him down. "Never! There's no way that you..." He paused. Why was he so worked up trying to argue a point that Prosecutor Blackquill absolutely couldn't refute? Couldn't, because... "You were there too, Sir. So you know what I'm talking about when... I know what I felt, and I know it's not wrong. Any part of it. And I don't think you can look me in the eye and tell me it is!"

Much to his dismay, Prosecutor Blackquill __did__ look him in the eye as he spoke with almost savage conviction. " _ _That is still not a reason__! No... no logical explanation to support your desire to reopen this case, other than your idiotic devotion to seeking justice when it need not be sought. Whatever you're trying to prove, Fool Bright, there is nothing __to__ prove!"

Bobby had never thought of Prosecutor Blackquill as the Twisted Samurai, always understanding that his aggrandized persona was only fodder to intimidate, to keep the world at large at bay. But in that moment, he saw in Prosecutor Blackquill's eyes something very __twisted__ , very dangerous.

And very, deeply sad.

Bobby didn't just want Prosecutor Blackquill to be filled with hope again, to start __living__ his life and stop merely existing behind an identity marred by self-loathing.

He wanted to be the one to help Simon do it.

"You're reason enough to me, Sir."

Hands firmly bracketing either side of Prosecutor Blackquill's face, Bobby pulled him close and kissed him, all he'd yet to express spilling out into it. Anything else, anything __less,__ would have simply been unjust.

Prosecutor Blackquill had just enough time to raise his arms and plant both hands squarely on Bobby's chest, flat and resisting at first and then limp and defenseless as his whole body relaxed and sank towards Bobby.

It wasn't really a __good__ kiss, with how Prosecutor Blackquill's lips were rough and unmoving save for a slight tremble as a moan shuddered out from them. But all the same, Bobby was remiss to break it, and even more uneasy at the silence that surrounded them as he waited for Prosecutor Blackquill to respond __somehow__.

Patience was a virtue, but this wasn't exactly a virtuous situation he was in. "Please say something..."

"I... what in the seven Hells am I supposed to say when you...!" Prosecutor Blackquill straightened, backed away from Bobby as far as he could in the compact backseat. "When you go and... behave so impulsively and emotionally?"

"Just..." Bobby drew in a deep breath. He'd been all but completely honest with Prosecutor Blackquill thus far, speaking his mind and sincere in his actions. It wasn't too much to request it in return. "If you could tell me what you're thinking right now, that would be enough."

"What I'm thinking is..." In the distinct, measured hesitation that followed, Prosecutor Blackquill's scathing glare melted into an altogether different countenance. Finally, Bobby was able to glimpse the kind, mild-mannered young man that Ms. Blackquill, in all her profanity-laced diatribes, insisted was and always had been her brother. "What I'm thinking is that you puzzle me, Fool Bright. Why must someone as overwhelmingly __simple__ as you be so __damned__ difficult to comprehend?"

"There's nothing to comprehend, Sir. It's just all... whether you accept what I told you. Or not."

"What I accept is that..." Prosecutor Blackquill paused, averting his gaze from Bobby. It seemed as though all his energy was going towards expressing his thoughts, with the strain in his voice. "I can not do anything to convince you __of__ my guilt, nor can anything you profess cause me to recant my original confession: that I alone am responsible for the brutal slaying of Dr. Metis Cykes. And that will have to be the way of it all. As it currently stands, we are trapped in a stalemate."

"... And I guess it'll stay that way, since you're dismissing me."

Even though it was a tactic all lawyers practiced and most mastered, Bobby knew better than to think Prosecutor Blackquill was ever bluffing with __him__. He did not doubt that, even though Prosecutor Blackquill did not truly have the power to actually __dismiss__ him, he wished very strongly that he could.

He saw it perfectly acceptable to sacrifice any __good__ from happening, just to ensure nothing, __nothing__ bad would. After all the __bad__ that had already transpired, Prosecutor Blackquill could not risk being let down again.

"...You never __listen__ to me, Fool Bright." Prosecutor Blackquill shifted back towards Bobby, eyeing him much the same way Taka likely had that mole he'd slaughtered.

"I... I try my very best to, Sir."

"If you __had__ been listening, you would have heard me say, quite clearly, that it is my return to prison that will be your final task. Until then, you are still under my supervision." Chains knocked against Bobby's middle as Prosecutor Blackquill grasped him by the tie, tugging him close. "As such, you shall assist me in completing what we started together. I am not in the business of leaving loose ends."

For as ably as Prosecutor Blackquill was crawling onto his lap and kissing Bobby with a hunger reserved for the last meal before execution, Bobby could only reflect on the exchange between them just a short time ago.

 _ _"Who would have thought you'd end up where you are now?"__

 _ _"I bet__ _ _ **you**__ _ _would, Prosecutor Blackquill!"__

It's a bet he was still willing to make.


	5. Chapter 5

It wasn't that Bobby didn't __want__ to dig the manacle key out, unlock Simon from his restraints so they could more adeptly remove the other's clothing; it was that he was physically unable to.

He had absolutely no room to move, hardly any to even breathe, Simon now astride him and not showing any reservations in letting his body act on its own impulses. Simon's lips were paper-dry, pressing onto Bobby's with kisses messy and inexperienced and incapable of holding back maddeningly arousing groans of approval.

Bobby's tie had since been loosened, shirt mostly unbuttoned as Simon's hands snuck in and explored as much as they could with iron cuffs weighing them down. His own arms had nowhere to go but around Simon, tall and lean and so much warmer than he ever showed himself for.

Simon let out an impatient growl as his hips rocked forward, seemingly ignited from Bobby's fingers skimming beneath his threadbare prison-issued shirt and finding the waistband of his slacks.

"That's it, Fool Bright." Simon's motion continued, a satisfied chuckle escaping. "You can not contain yourself; I anticipated as much. Nor can I. We both just have different manners of conducting these pursuits."

Bobby had no idea what Simon could mean, and he wasn't really keen on finding out in the moment, not with the consistent friction grinding against his lap spreading a mindless, almost unbearable heat throughout his whole being and clouding his ability to speak.

He did his best to lower Simon's waistband, a small sigh of contentment slipping out as he tried to do the same to the underwear beneath.

Apparently in no mood to wait, Simon thrust himself harder against Bobby than ever before. Without Bobby's firm hold on him, Simon's momentum propelled him upward, the crown of his head crashing into the low roof of the cruiser.

"Damn!" Simon made to rub his head, but cuffs snagged his wrist back halfway there. Bobby glanced up at him, mesmerized by how flushed with exertion Simon's cheeks were, at the trickle of sweat trailing under his chin and down along his Adam's Apple. How he, for once, appeared very much a living, breathing human being and not a soulless shell.

It stoked the ever-growing fire licking at Bobby's insides, and what came out next in a strangled whisper was directed just as much at himself. "Maybe... slow down a little? We don't have to do everything at once."

"Never you mind what we don't __have__ to do, Fool Bright." Simon glared down at Bobby, who had since restationed his grip securely on Simon's hips. "Today I shall be the one deciding what is __enough__. If you must blame anyone for these unsuitable conditions, you need only blame yourself, as you were the one who preemptively quashed what was leading to be a very eventful... encounter."

"Well dammit, Prosecutor Blackquill, I was only trying to be a gentleman!" Simon deserved that much, especially since Bobby had a strong suspicion this was Simon's first time doing anything remotely sexual – at least, consensually – and that kiss three weeks ago might have even been his first kiss. It was only fair, __decent__ of him to not insist all four bases be covered in a single afternoon!

"Gentleman?! What absolute tripe, that I would demand such treatment. I was not lying, Fool Bright. I do not often ponder your whereabouts." Head tilted, words a hot caress over Bobby's ear, fists full of Bobby's open shirt. "But the... __tasks__ that you might perform when you __are__ in my presence. Whether your enthusiasm for justice carries over to other exploits, and if you might ever use those blasted shackles to restrain me at moments __other__ than when you escort me to and from my cell... I do find myself dwelling on __those__ subjects quite often. Certainly not a bloody thing about you being a __gentleman__."

Somewhere during this impassioned wordplay, Bobby had finally managed to fish out Simon's erection from his briefs. He couldn't see it, with how tightly pressed to each other they were, but he could feel the tip on his bare stomach, leaving a small, sticky dot. Simon was close, would probably come in a matter of minutes, if that, and just the __thought__ of his eyes rolling back as he released himself while a hoarse " _ _Fool... Bright...__ " floated out like a plea for help...

Bobby was kissing him again, showing his belated agreement to Simon's questioning of him deciding to be anything resembling chivalrous.

Suddenly, the kiss was broken and replaced with a coarse, mirthless laugh "What say you, Fool Bright?" With both of his imprisoned hands, Simon reached for Bobby's right one, where it had drifted to rest upon Simon's upper thigh. Carefully, he raised it to his lips, breath ghosting over it as he spoke. "Does your mind also stray down more unsavory avenues, so far along that even justice itself would struggle to rescue you from such licentiousness?"

"Yes. I think about you – it – too, Sir," Bobby admitted readily, touch curving to brush along Simon's mouth. "A lot." Mostly he found himself musing on if Simon, always so sharp and unforgiving with his tongue, could control it just as skillfully if he were on his knees in front of Bobby, mouth otherwise full, preoccupied.

"Then show me, Fool Bright." Simon spat into Bobby's palm, abruptly forcing his hand back down, where he stood ready. "Show me __exactly__ what you think about."

* * *

Bobby tried multiple times to find a rhythm, but it hardly mattered with the relentless pace Simon immediately set. His mindset was obvious, with how forceful and unaccommodating his movements were: Bobby's hand was meant to be little more than an accelerant to fully set off Simon's climax, in no one's terms but his own.

Not that Bobby was going anywhere with Simon's full weight pinning him down, but the chains whipped over Bobby's head, stretching uncomfortably across his upper back, caging him even closer and providing Simon with more leverage. The only limb he could move at this point was his left arm, which snaked its way behind Simon's bent leg and tugged down his pants to expose him on the other end.

Bobby didn't bother asking for permission - that wasn't what Simon wanted, after all, and who was he to disobey? - and gave a careful, testing squeeze. And then another, not careful in the least.

It was met with a stunted groan of surprise and certain approval, Simon instinctively slamming as deep as he could into Bobby's unmoving grip. The saliva had long since dried out, but a thin stream of pre-come had slicked his hand enough that he didn't need to bother rewetting it. Not that he would have exactly been able to.

Likely to avoid what happened earlier, Simon folded his head down, tipping his slackened mouth so his moans were lost in Bobby's ruffled hair. His hands had also found a new place to rest, curled tightly like claws into Bobby's shoulders. He was all but hugging himself to Bobby, thrusts slowing but no less intense.

The stale, decaying odor of prison surrounded Bobby, mixed with days worth of sweat and clingy undertones of hair unkempt for six years. It should have been a total repellent. But something about how undeniably raw, stripped-away – again, so very much a symbol of the __life__ still coursing within Simon – it was weirdly appealing, in its uniqueness.

Even more appealing were the low, primal __hmmm__ s buzzing through his hair, into his skull and kicking his mind out from under itself. And with Simon shoving himself as far into Bobby's hand as possible, as if begging for Bobby to literally __feel__ how terribly he needed this - he was, for the second time in as many interactions, void of self-control or any persona he'd spent years constructing. He was the Simon that Bobby had kissed in his apartment, who he would lose his badge- essentially, __himself -__ for if it meant Simon finding freedom and happiness.

Desperately wanting to kiss that Simon again, Bobby moved his head, trying to nudge Simon's mouth back to his. Simon either understood or had been plotting to follow through himself, instantaneously swallowing Bobby's nondescript __rmfh?__ and causing the smoldering flames within him to explode into a raging inferno.

God, it'd been so __long__ since he'd burned with this kind of affection towards anyone, to the point he'd concluded it would only ever be reserved for his devotion to justice. But that fire hadn't been extinguished, it'd just been laying dormant, waiting for Simon to rekindle it.

This was nowhere __near__ the hasty, perfunctory kiss that should be delivered during a backseat handjob. This was from the core, beyond anything that could be manipulated by even the Twisted Samurai himself.

So what __was__ Simon thinking about, if rational thought was present at all? Could he feel badly Bobby wanted this too, with how they were aligned, and was that fueling his unstoppable craving to finish what they'd started?

And what if they weren't in the car, almost fully dressed like this? What __if__ this had happened in Bobby's apartment, where they'd have been able to shed their clothes and Simon could still be on top of him, riding against him with the same intensity? Not only on top of him, but so tight around him...

Oh, this was the greatest injustice of all, being so agonizingly trapped in both the confines of the backseat and within his pants! Bobby's feet scuffled and slid along the floor as he tried to wriggle his legs out from Simon far enough to at least unbuckle his belt.

" _ _No__." Simon snarled from the back of his throat into the kiss, a man possessed and displaying as much in the breakneck pace he returned to. The chains scored even deeper into Bobby's back, triggering squeezes from both his hands. A sharp hiss bit its way out through gritted teeth, then, something halfway between a gasp and a helpless __whine__ as the kiss fell apart completely and Simon's head lolled to the side. "F-F... _ _oh__.."

"Hey, c'mere..." Bobby dipped his head to catch Simon's lips one last time, finding enough that an elongated moan tumbled into his mouth, accompanied by the sudden string of liquid warmth covering his hand and stomach.

Simon lazily rode through the ending pulses of the orgasm, at last collapsing to a halt for all of a few seconds. With a great sigh of relief, he lifted his chains from around Bobby, and made to push away.

"Don't...!" The only thing Bobby could really grab was the tail of Simon's shirt, but that was enough to startle him into stillness. "Please don't move yet, just... wait a minute."

"One minute?" Simon replied slyly, hinting he understood full well why Bobby was having him wait. "I suppose that's sufficient. Beginning now, then: One...two..."

Bobby counted too, the slow, full heaving of Simon's chest rather than seconds. His thoughts, which had been flooded with nothing but the most graphic images of what he wanted to do to Simon, and vice-versa, gradually dissolved. And oddly, with far less disappointment than he'd felt as they were in midst of their actions, when he'd accepted how unfavorably this would end for him.

At least Simon had gotten off, and even more so, seemed to enjoy every second of it.

At "sixty," Simon immediately slid off of Bobby, getting a good look at the damage he'd done. "Oh, hell... Your shirt, Fool Bright. Here..." With the hem of his tee, he swiped at Bobby's hand, then the stain tickered along Bobby's stomach, the edges of his dress shirt.

"No... That was kind of the point, wasn't it?" Hand now clean, Bobby reached to Simon's sex-tossed hair to smooth down a sizable flyaway that had sprouted.

Simon smacked Bobby's hand off, sending the chains rattling. He scooted away, using his already dirtied shirt hem to finish wiping himself up.

"You are so tremendously ridiculous, Fool Bright. You sound __satisfied__ , when in fact, you yourself did not... __accomplish__ anything." He hiked his pants back up, and cast a disparaging glare in Bobby's direction. "Are you __that__ deprived?... Actually, don't answer that; I needn't know any sordid details of your private life."

Bobby couldn't keep from rolling his eyes. As if Simon, and what they'd just done, wasn't the primest example of what could be categorized as a "sordid detail" at this stage.

Simon must have mistook Bobby's reaction for disgust at how he'd used his shirt to wipe himself clean. "Oh please, what else am I to do? Do you think this is the first article of clothing they'd receive that has been soiled in such a manner? Trust me when I say, Fool Bright, with all the perverts occupying our prison, the staff hardly, if at all, notices these things anymore."

Bobby laughed quietly under his breath as he buttoned up his shirt, thinking for a moment about what __hadn't__ been ruined.

"I hardly see what's so amusing."

"I was just thinking how it's a good thing I left my sunglasses with my jacket, in the front seat! You would have destroyed them."

"Pah, __that's__ what you're thinking about at this time?" Simon asked, barely concealing that he was thoroughly unsurprised. "Your precious lenses?"

"Oh, no Sir, I was just making conversation. I-"

"Fool Bright, is it __that__ impossible for you to __not__ blather on aimlessly? Why, if it weren't for the time wasted with that tawdry preamble of yours, perhaps __you__ could have enjoyed the same results I did."

Bobby blinked, baffled by Simon's choice of words. "My __what__?"

"Preamble, you halfwit. The preliminary opening of, in most cases, something momentous or dramatic. Where one states their aims."

"I know what it __means__ , Sir! What I'm __trying__ to ask is -"

"-Is of little importance to what I shall ask you, which is this: Are you still concerned with if I will have you dismissed or not?"

Bobby replied hesitantly, still confused by what Simon could be getting at. "...No, Sir. I guess I'm not really worried about that anymore."

"Ah, I thought not. Because you got what you wanted, correct? From this afternoon, this outing." A short, callous laugh only added to the spitefulness infused in Simon's words. "From that preposterous admission of yours, of your beliefs and __feelings__ , and all that other rot."

Simon couldn't __possibly__ be saying .. "Hold on! Everything I said is the __truth__ , Sir! It wasn't meant to-"

"Everything you said, Fool Bright – which was far more than you needed to, honestly – achieved precisely what you intended it to. Or, that is my presumption from how content you are. So let us return."

This... Bobby couldn't believe it. It __had__ to be one of Prosecutor Blackquill's many tricks, his incomparable ability to find an opening where his piercing insults would wound the most critically .

It hurt, but Bobby wouldn't let that show, facing Prosecutor Blackquill with only the strongest determination. "...You're wrong, Prosecutor Blackquill. You can think whatever you want, but-"

"Would you just __stop talking,__ Fool Bright? In fact, let me instruct you one more time, so perhaps it will finally enter that cobweb-filled pit you call a cranium. __If__ you see me again – that is, in a living state and not swinging from a noose made of bedsheets – you will not speak of anything that occurred today. Nor what was discussed previous to it."

At this point, he just had to humor Prosecutor Blackquill by acquiescing to his orders. But in part, he agreed with Prosecutor Blackquill; they didn't __need__ to talk for Bobby to further research the truth behind UR-1. It would make it exponentially more difficult, but not impossible.

And no amount of conversation would erase what had happened today. What Bobby knew deep within his soul, had changed everything between them.

"I understand, Sir. Really, whatever you think works best."

"Good. Because if you do, I will assume it's something you have no issue sharing openly – or have any qualms about me doing the same to say, the wardens or that crackpot of a therapist."

Bobby could only stare as the reality sunk in that Simon Blackquill was not one to trifled with.

"That's fine, Sir!" He adopted a wide smile, angling his arm through the space beside the front seat to open the driver's side door that had never quite shut entirely. "Honestly, I don't think there's anything about today that's worth talking about again!"

Neither was Bobby Fulbright.

* * *

It was funny, Bobby thought as he locked the barred gate of Prosecutor Blackquill's cell and bid him goodbye with an "In justice we trust!", how he bore absolutely no regret or unease.

It'd happened before, long __long__ ago. The paranoia cackling endlessly in his brain, convincing him everyone who passed was clued in as to why Bobby Fulbright had shuffled into work just as his shift started, wearing the same wrinkled uniform from the day prior and hiding the telltale sleeplessness in his eyes with his aviators.

None of that was present right now. No guilt, no shame associated with what he – __they__ – had just done. If anything, there was this __relief__ that always found him when he could safely say justice had been served – or, in this instance, one day would be.

"Fulbright!" The evening warden approached Bobby just as he turned the corner from the section Simon's cell was located. "That fucker didn't give you any more trouble, did he? I heard about the shit he pulled today."

"Oh, no, not at all! We saw Taka at the park, and I think that calmed him down a lot."

The warden scoffed, probably disbelieving all it took was a bird to smooth out the razor-sharp edges of Prosecutor Blackquill's disposition.

Bobby laughed, an automatic response he used when he didn't want to deal with all the venom most of the wardens spat so freely towards Prosecutor Blackquill and the population of the prison in general. "Well, I'll be back on Tuesday to bring him to his therapy session! Have a good night, Sir!"

"About that, Fulbright. Forget it, alright? Blackquill's appointments are cancelled until further notice."

"...What? That can't be, I never requested such a thing!"

"Doesn't matter. Given his behavior lately, the prosecutor's office and police department want to revaluate his progress with you. Decide if he's still worth rehabilitating or not."

Bobby's heart leapt into his throat, his head ringing not with what the warden had said, the foreboding manner in which he'd said it. Miraculously, he didn't stammer his reply. "With all due respect, Sir, I don't think he's been given enough time to-"

"It shouldn't take long for them to reach their decision, Fulbright." It was crystal clear that Simon Blackquill was not a topic anyone at the prison wanted to dwell any longer than absolutely necessary. "You'll be notified when they do."

* * *

Bobby didn't go straight home. Nor did he go to the GYAXA Space Center, as had been his original mission that day.

Prosecutor Blackquill had been, at one time, just that: a promising prosecuting attorney, one who had pursued justice with as much commitment as he used to keep the world and those who might seek to help him at bay.

Bobby had acquainted himself with the few cases Prosecutor Blackquill had led, but that had been a couple months ago, when he'd first begun his assignment. He'd never expected to uncover all that he had – certainly hadn't predicted the route his feelings would travel down – and hadn't studied the cases any further than knowing that they existed. Most of them were straightforward, the type rookie prosecutors were given until they proved themselves competent.

He was at an impasse, for how much more information he could obtain about UR-1, from either Prosecutor Blackquill or anyone else involved in the case. Maybe it was time to delve into the events leading up to Dr. Cykes's murder, to sift through every last transcript, report, and interview that took place before Simon Blackquill had – and Bobby knew it – undeservingly been stamped with the title of Twisted Samurai, and the inciter of the Dark Age of the Law.

Bobby entered one of the many records rooms at the station, carrying with him the folder stuffed with all his findings about UR-1. Hours passed as he sat cross-legged, surrounded by a cluttered arc of files and painstakingly reading and rereading every last letter of them.

Occasionally, thoughts of Prosecutor Blackquill intruded his otherwise impenetrable focus. Bobby wondered if he was, for once, resting well. Or, alternately, if he was not sleeping at all and if what Bobby had confessed to him, and all that had followed, was keeping him awake.

Page twenty-two of the fourth transcript he scanned. That was what snagged his attention so wholly that he cursed out loud and nearly tore the page out of its binding.

An interrogation with a witness in the earliest stages of an investigation. Bobby could just __hear__ Prosecutor Blackquill's intrepid tone as he demanded the witness, whom he strongly suspected as an accomplice, reveal whether or not the defendant had acted on his own accord, or if it was an affiliation with a foreign power. If this defendant's identity was, in fact, even theirs.

Bobby jotted down notes of everything he was reading in the margins of his UR-1 documents, which ended up being nearly a word-for-word duplication. He'd sort it all out when he got home, but for now his pen thoughtlessly flew along every available space he could find as he read more and more about this "phantom" he'd, until now, never heard a thing about but who was undeniably someone Prosecutor Blackquill wished to see brought to justice.

Justice.

Despite holding a textbook definition, Bobby was of the mind that justice held a different meaning from person to person. For him, it'd never been something tangible, more of an ideal to adhere to. No matter how bleak things might look, knowing justice existed out there kept him from ever giving up on himself.

And now that he'd found someone who had completely redefined what justice meant to him, whom he trusted in and cared for just as unequivocally, he wasn't giving up on them either.


End file.
